Page 9 of Synced to Us

Apparently not, considering I blurted unfounded threats to Dennis in panicked defense. Engaged to Wyn Riley. Frequent couch surfer and collector of dirty pizza boxes.

What was I thinking?

My grip on Emerald Spin Records is slippery at best. Asking any of the former Nocturne Court members to threaten the label is a stupid, nonsensical, unethical thing to do.

But…everything I’ve worked for is at stake. The past I’ve tried to bury. Poof, gone. All at the hands of some gaunt, money-hungry coyote.

“You’re thinking about it,” McKenna says. “You have that line between your brows that tells me you’re about to cave.”

“Absolutely not.” While taking Wyn on as a client would help with my fiancé narrative, I’d have to actually inform him of my lies, a humiliation I’d rather sort out on my own. Besides, he’s too naïve, too close to what I used to be, for me to be an unbiased source of future profits for him.

“Please?” McKenna takes a large gulp from her drink, and this time, the flash in my periphery is unmistakable.

McKenna flinches and I rise from my seat, but she puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

My lips curve on a sneer. “That jerk’s gonna put that on blast somewhere.”

“I’m aware. And I don’t care.”

“Why the hell not?” I ask her while searching the crowded bar for the perp. I meet every gaze that pings to mine.

“Dee…” McKenna whispers. “It’s fine. Don’t.”

I try to relax. The bar continues on, no more flashes, not one judgmental scoff, but I’m aware of the phones hidden away, the secret recordings that could be going on.

McKenna’s shriveled up beside me, but I can’t unlock my jaw or unlatch my burning gaze from the people surrounding us. Any one of them is a threat to what we’ve built. A flaw to what we’ve endured. I didn’t work this hard and revamp my entire life for the third time for some dipshit Dennis with a vendetta to throw a punch.

I need him. Goddamnit, I need Wyn Riley’s help.

McKenna says through the side of her mouth, “Pretty sure your glare is going to melt some people.”

I swig the rest of my martini and slam it down so hard, the toothpick of olives falls out. McKenna swipes them, sucking on the juices with a low moan.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, vodka…”

I say through my teeth, “Tell him to come in tomorrow morning at eight.”

The olives pop out. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“I’ll take you home. And yeah, Wyn Riley. I’ll meet him.” Standing, I throw a few bills on the table. “And tell him not to be late or I’ll tear his balls off with my teeth.”

“I’ll…leave out that last part.”

4

Wyn

I look ridiculous.

“Do I really have to wear this?” I tug at the collar of a baby blue polo shirt I’ve borrowed from him. “I resemble somebody’s golf caddy. And why are you so scrawny?”

“I may not have the brawn, but I certainly have the girth.” Mason cackles as he comes up and pats my cheek. “I’d take you as my caddy any time. If I golfed.”

I push him away.

“There’s a dress code at places like this,” he says. “You have to look the part.”

“I’m only doing this because you’ve annoyed me enough that I need to move out,” I grumble.

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